VIP Vendetta
by sg-1
Summary: After everything they've been through, Jackson has a major score to settle. Sequel to Checking Out, Late Night Reservation. My computer crashed I'm trying to rewrite it, having trouble.
1. Explosion

_Lisa looked out the window to see Jackson coming towards the car. Jackson's stare met Lisa's for the briefest moment in the second of calm. All oxygen swept out of Jackson's lungs—as he was knocked back hard to the pavement. He lied there wide-eyed gasping on the concrete. His gaze was burned into the site of the exploding vehicle…_

He couldn't move for a split second; his breath finally had escaped his lungs. His heart pounded violently in his ears as everything blurred then focused. Metal splattered the pavement as the car blazed angrily. Jackson had never shaken so badly in his life.

He couldn't move until the sirens started in the distance. He finally staggered to his knees and ran. He felt like he was being torn as he left the blazing car. He didn't get more then three steps before his knees gave out.

The sirens and voices got louder and a white light was in his face. His vision came back together and he looked around a hospital room. "Lisa," he rasped as his eyes closed and opened.

"Sir do you know where you are?" the nurse asked.

He couldn't answer the nurse, as he closed his eyes again. Did they know who he was? All of his id would have been burnt. He woke up and sat up as light appeared through the window. "Sir?" an officer asked. Jackson looked slowly to the police officer.

"The woman?" he asked.

"She didn't make it," the officer said.

Jackson needed to hold it together. He couldn't be connected to the burnt body on the way to the morgue that was Lisa. "I just saw…"

"What did you see?" the officer asked.

"I was on my way out when it happened. I didn't see anything, I just knew there was a woman in there," he said. Jackson kept his tone even but regretful. His ears were screaming with his false words though.

"Are you up for giving a statement?" the officer asked.

"Yeah," Jackson said.

The officer sat down with a pen and pencil. "What's you name?"

"Steven Jackson," he said.

"What's your name and address?" he asked.

"321, Downing Street, Minnesota, I'm just here visiting my mom," he said.

The officer nodded, "Can you give us her address?"

Jackson remembered they'd passed by a nursing home. "Lake Wood nursing home, please don't' go bothering her, she has Alzheimer's," Jackson said keeping his voice horse.

The officer nodded and finished taking the statement. He thanked Jackson and Jackson slumped back down on the bed after he'd finished giving the false information. He felt burned inside; Jackson took a prolonged sigh.

He signed himself out and went back to the crime scene. He looked around and saw that the car had been towed away with Lisa. He could go to the morgue ask to see her. There'd be nothing left to see though, his jaw clenched hard. He kicked a piece of scrap metal on the now black pavement. He looked around, nothing. They hadn't left much of a calling card. That was okay; they didn't have to.

Jackson swore under his breath, no money and no id. However he did have a small back up plan, he just needed to get to New York. He started with hitch hiking, surely enough a trucker picked him up. Jackson hopped in, "Where ya headed?"

"New York," Jackson said.

"I can get you as far as Baltimore," he said.

"Sounds good thanks," Jackson said trying to make his voice sincere.

"Name's Al," he said. Al was an average height man, about ten years older then Jackson, with huge muscles and bulky hands. He had black hair disheveled under a trucker cap.

"Mark," Jackson lied.

They drove until it was dark out, Al then pulled into what looked like a stop. Without warning Al threw a punch to Jackson's jaw. Jackson was too surprised to do anything for a moment. Al grabbed Jackson by the neck with his two huge hands. He jumped on Jackson in the passenger's seat and declined them backwards. Jackson's felt Al's massive hands tear his zipper open before throwing a blow to his cheek again. Jackson's eyes went wide as he saw Al undoing his belt.

Jackson quickly threw a strike to Al's throat. Al coughed and spluttered as spit landed on Jackson's face. Jackson's jaw clenched; he took the opportunity to throw his hips sideways. Al fell off Jackson still coughing. Jackson grabbed both sides of Al's neck and a crack sliced the air.

Jackson took a few breaths and let Al's body slump to the floor. Jackson looked around; bastard had taken them to an empty lot. Jackson opened the door and dragged Al to bushes. Jackson searched his pockets and found Al's wallet. He also found a pair of handcuffs, his face contorted in disgust, and he spat on the body.

He took Al's plaid shirt and hat with his sneakers. He then kicked Al's body down the ravine. He turned back to the truck and opened the thing. Al had just been shipping electronics. He took a deeper look nobody was in there. It didn't hurt to check, "Hello Police!" he called. He looked around in the boxes, just electronics.

No noise he checked over, only Sony boxes. Al may have been a perve but wasn't a kidnapper. He'd ditch the truck the second he got close to New York. He didn't know where Al had taken them but got back on the highway.

He drove until it was light out; the signs said he'd was in the direction of New Jersey.


	2. Checking Out

Jackson's eyes were droopy; he paid for a motel, compliments of Al. He showered and collapsed on the bed, not bothering to throw the covers over himself.

_Her eyes met his for the briefest moment; there was a burst of metal and flame. He was thrown back to the pavement as she burned inside the car. _

Jackson shot up gasping, "Lisa!"

Lisa wasn't in the room, just him. He shook his head and looked at the clock. He'd been asleep for 11 hours; he needed to get moving. He went out and bought a fresh change of clothes. He threw Al's shirt, hat, and wallet into the Dumpster before leaving the motel. He drove strait to the storage lot at the end of the pier. He got the key and opened it up, he knew that a safe box in a bank was too risky. He needed to ditch the truck quickly before somebody got nosey. He took all the stuff he wanted from the storage locker. He was set; he needed to get rid of the truck.

He parked it in a vacant lot and went to the car dealership. They were suspicious in a cash payment but gave him a rental all the same. Jackson then drove to where he left the truck. He put all of his stuff in the back of the trunk, and then got out a can of paint thinner. He spread it everywhere and then lit a match. The truck was sending a hundred feet smoke signal already. He drove away quickly onto the highway.

He scowled about having to drive more. Washington was only a few hours away and he knew just whom he wanted to see.


	3. Very Important Person

Keith entered the gate and parked his car. He walked up through the front stairs, and threw his keys on the table next to his blackberry. He sighed and shook his head; it'd been an excruciatingly long day. His wife was at her mothers with the kids. Keith hated his mother in law; therefore was glad that he had a late night meeting. However that hadn't made his day any shorter.

He poured himself a drink and set the glass on a coaster. "She's broken up with her tennis instructor," and icy voice said from the corner.

Keith nearly dropped the glass, Jackson. He whipped around; Jackson's eyes burned him. "What are you doing here?" Keith said.

Jackson gave him a really faint smile, "Take a guess," he said.

Keith swallowed, "Look I didn't have anything to do with Lisa being killed."

"Who said anything about the reason I was here?" Jackson said.

Keith realized he'd just hung himself. Jackson came forwards and Keith's eyes darted to the scotch bottle. Keith grabbed it and swung, Jackson ducked. Keith was knocked back with a strike to the nose. He lied there on the floor with his broken nose trickling blood. He inhaled air; Jackson loomed over him like a lion telling a deer it was about to die.

"You see Keith," Jackson said kneeling down. "I don't just want you. I want everybody right down to the person who put the bomb in the car."

"I didn't do it!" Keith cried.

Jackson laughed, and then his stare turned icy. He covered Keith's mouth Keith struggled violently scratching at Jackson's hands. Jackson finally let him get air and Keith spluttered. "Who?" Jackson asked. Keith choked and Jackson pressed down on his broken nose. Keith screamed and Jackson withdrew, "Who?"

"Rameriez!" Keith screamed.

"Rameriez is dead!" Jackson shouted.

Keith shook his head; "He's using an alias in Bogata. I never wanted him assassinated; he wanted to disappear."

"What's the alias?" Jackson asked.

"He didn't tell me," Keith gasped.

Jackson picked up his hand and snapped his baby finger. Keith screamed, "What's the alias?"

"I don't know I swear!" Keith screamed.

"Then where's somebody who does know?" Jackson growled.

"Roger Lynch, head of security!" Keith gasped.

"Is he in Washington?" Jackson asked.

"Yes! They just did it through my office! My only job was to hire you!" Keith gasped.

The guy was talking so quickly to save his own skin he was skimming over details. "Why did Rameriez want us dead?"

"He wanted to disappear completely. You were supposed to die period; feds get a hold of you, everybody is screwed. Lisa was just along for the ride," Keith coughed.

Jackson gave him a hard look; Jackson got up and walked over. Keith scrambled to his knees but felt a blow to his back. He grunted and fell back down again; Jackson kicked him over with his foot. Keith's eyes widened, he was staring down the blade of a knife.

Jackson bent down, "Keith next time you set up a coo, do it yourself, well only if there were a next time." A small intake of air was the only sound there was; a spray hit the floor. Jackson wiped off his knife and shoved it back in his pocket. He'd get rid of everything down to his shoes later. He'd walked here so there wasn't a problem with a car being recognized. He knew that he wasn't in the system, and he'd had on leather gloves. He ran a kilometer back to his car and drove.


	4. Breaking and Entering

Roger Lynch got up and rolled out of bed. He ran a tired hand through his hair; he checked himself in the mirror and started to run a shower. The past five days have been utter absolute hell. Ever since Keefe was found the workplace had become a circus.

This was the first night he'd spent at his own apartment. He'd been staying at a hotel with the family. Even when he was home he couldn't turn on a TV without seeing Keefe face and crime scene tape. He scowled; he didn't even know what Keefe had done to get him in that position. Every other oblivious Joe was screaming terrorist attack. Roger nearly smirked if they'd only known how dirty the guy had been.

Roger put on his suit and waited for another day in hell. He heard a sharp knock at the door; it was only 8am, who would it be? He fingered his gun pulling it out and opened the door. Some delivery guy was there with a brown package, "Whoa man!" he jumped back when he caught sight of the gun.

"Sorry," Roger said when he removed his hand from underneath his coat.

"Here," the guy said pretty much shoving the package and clipboard into his hand. Roger started to sign when he felt a chopping blow to his neck. The guy snatched his gun quickly and threw it onto the floor. Roger growled upon recovery and punched the guy in the face hard. The guy doubled back angrily with a knee to the groin. Roger buckled over and the man threw the knee into his face. Blood spluttered out from his mouth and his vision blurred before he felt a final blow to his head.

Roger woke tied to a chair; he tugged at his restraints. Jackson put a hand on his shoulder, and circled in front of him. It was like watching a fox take down and imprison a bear. It'd all happened so fast that Roger's head was still spinning. The swelling bruises on his head ached and he felt crusted blood on his nose. He was shaken at taking such a beating but stated in a calm voice, "You're Ripner." He didn't need an introduction to know who this guy was.

The corners of Jackson's mouth twitched up, "Jackson, I don't go by Jack," he said in a dry voice. Roger was stunned, what was Ripner doing here? Roger's eyes diverted to the table where Jackson lay a blonde wig. Jackson took out the brown contacts right in front of him and laid them down. Roger mentally slapped himself; he'd seen this guy on the hotel tapes. "For somebody who is head of security, not very observant." Jackson let his eyes pierce Roger for a second.

"What do you want?" Roger asked.

Jackson smiled letting out a laugh, which gave Roger the chills. Jackson's face then went very still and he got up and spun Roger around towards the table. He took out a picture of Lisa Reisert and slammed it down on the table. "I want who did that!" Jackson screamed in a raspy pitch. Roger had known that Ramierz had taken out Reisert. He didn't know how much Jackson knew though. Without warning Jackson spun him around and held him at eye level. "Give, me Ramierz," he rasped, "and I just might let you keep your eyes."


	5. Burned

Roger started to tremble when Jackson left the room. He shook his head pulling himself together and started to yank at the rope. The knots cut into his skin for a futile few minutes of twisting his hands. Roger glanced once at the picture of Lisa as Jackson came back. Jackson went over and took off Roger's shoe and sock.

Without a word of warning Jackson took out a lighter and held it to the sole of Roger's foot. Roger screamed and Jackson quickly removed it. "Okay unless you want that to happen again talk," Jackson said with an edgier fierceness to his voice. The look on the smaller man's face was enough to make Roger's throat go dry. Roger was too stunned to say anything; Jackson held the lighter to the sole of his foot again. Roger's face contorted in pain once before Jackson removed the flame.

"Ramierz!" Roger gasped.

"I know, what's his name?"

"Javier Torres," Roger said.

"Are you lying?" Jackson said flicking the lighter on again.

"No!" Roger shouted.

"Okay I believe you, now is he still in Bogata?" Jackson asked.

Roger shook his head frantically, "I don't know," Roger said.

Jackson put the flame under his heel again. Roger screamed; he wasn't removing it. Finally Jackson turned the lighter off and looked Roger in the eye. "Think," Jackson growled.

Roger whimpered from the smell of blackened skin. "I don't know he might of left, I only know he was in Bogata," Roger cried.

Jackson's eyes flicked cruelly across the man that had been reduced to a whimpering infant. "Fine, where's somebody that does know?" Jackson asked.

"We dropped him off in Bogata he might not have stayed there," Roger said. Jackson held the lighter to his toes this time.

Roger made another loud sound of pain, and Jackson looked at him, "Not what I asked."

"He dealt everything through our office with a guy named Sebastian Marquez," Roger said nearly breaking into tears. "I only met him a few times, he should still be in Bogata."

"Anything else," Jackson said flicking out the lighter.

"No," Roger sobbed, "I only had contact with Marquez, never Ramierz."

Roger coughed up snot and started to tremble; the pain from his foot was spreading up his leg. "Third degree burns don't hurt initially; the nerves are too damaged. You have second and third degree burns, so the second degree hurt a lot right now. Third degree burns are the most painful, the nerves have to grow back," Jackson said. "Right now you only have them on your foot," Jackson reminded Roger.

"I don't know anything else, I'd tell you," Roger sobbed.

"Okay I believe you," Jackson said.

Roger continued to shake, Jackson shushed him almost condescendingly. He turned around and walked to the door; he then grabbed a pillow off the couch. He took out his gun and held the pillow in front of it. There was hardly a bang, only a gurgling sound from Roger.

_I'm going away for a few weeks, so this is going to be my last post until Dec 16__th__. _


	6. The Patriot

Jackson went back to the motel and took a long shower. He stood quietly in the near scalding water, which turned to freezing when the hot water ran out. He turned it off now covered in goose flesh and got dressed. He stared in the mirror and traced the faded scar on his throat. He nearly smiled at how ironic this all was.

He stuffed everything he'd taken in his bag and went out to his car. There was nothing worse then being a former contract killer stripped of all resources. He still had cash, enough to book a flight to Columbia, but he wouldn't risk taking his gun on the plane. If anything he should throw that away.

He walked a few steps towards his car, "Freeze!" Shit.

He put both of his hands on his head. He felt handcuffs placed tightly over his wrists. They didn't read him his rights; they weren't Feds or cops. He felt a bag placed over his head. They drove him somewhere secluded, they were either going to beat something out of him or just shoot him. Jackson wasn't afraid, when you'd been in this type of business for as long as he had been, you just weren't afraid of dying. Did he want to die? No, he still had a job to do, get to Columbia. He started fiddling with the handcuffs; they were the good kind though.

He squinted through the bag at where he was, still in the city, in fact in front of a building. Jackson was pulled out of the front and the handcuffs and bag were taken off him. "Be quiet," a woman's voice said.

"CIA?" he asked.

"Don't talk neither, you are to go to the 6th floor, men will be there to escort you," she said.

"Oh yeah, you're definitely CIA," he said.

He walked into the building and did as she requested. There were two supposed agents there. They grabbed his shoulders and walked him to some office at the end of the hall. Jackson was told to sit by a man sitting in the chair behind the desk.

Charles Tyrell had been the head of the black ops unit for 3 years. He was a man around 50 with wrinkled black eyes. His greying hair implied he didn't work directly in the field, but he didn't look that young. Immediately he pushed a file towards Jackson. "Hello Jack," he said.

"Hello…" Jackson started before glancing at the name on the desk, "Charles…"

"You know why you're here?"

"I've been a very bad boy," Jackson said. Tyrell frowned, "You're either going to assassinate me, or I become a ghost detainee."

"Wrong and Wrong," Charles said with a light southern lilt. "We want you."

Jackson laughed almost coldly, "For what?"

Tyrell took a file and pushed it across the desk. "Ramierz is staying in Mexico, not Bogata, and we already have Sebastian Marquez."

"What do you want from me?" Jackson asked.

"We want you to go to Mexico, kill Ramierz, get back here." Tyrell said.

"And I'm not suppose to ask why you want him dead?" Jackson said.

Tyrell shook his head, "No, kill him, come back."

"You know this is why nobody likes the CIA," Jackson nearly whispered leaning in.

"You leave in three hours," Tyrell said.

Jackson was escorted out of Tyrell's office and into the hall. From there the same woman whom had arrested him stood there. She was tall slender, with a slightly pinched face, and a frowning mouth. She had short grey hair and her suit made her look like a mean schoolteacher.

She held something out, "Put it on."

"Doesn't match my eyes," Jackson said looking at an ankle monitor.

He took it and put it around his ankle while she watched. She walked with him then, "You won't be going on an international flight, but you will be flying back on one. You leave at 7, when you arrive you will be transported to a safe house. Everything you need will be in there," she said.

"Let me guess filled with cameras?"

"Probably," she said.

"Hmmm, we'll I'll sleep outside then," he said.

She kept walking her heels making clicking sounds down flights of stairs. She put her hand on a scanner and a huge metal door opened. They kept walking Jackson noticed he was in a glass tunnel underground. When they walked up the stairs and opened another door they were outside again. "Are we walking to Mexico?" he asked.

"No, shortcut," she said with a small smile. Jackson's eyes widened as she opened the last door, they had a jet all ready. Jackson looked behind him, noticing that the building they'd just come from was way back, and they were on a landing strip.

The two suits behind him gave him a shove forward. He walked to the jet and faced the woman "You'll land in Mexico by tomorrow morning, there you'll be directly taken to the safe house, and you're not to take that off," she said referencing his ankle with her eyes.

He gave a mock salute, "Proud to serve country," he said sardonically getting on the jet.

_'Sorry for the month wait vacation and exams.'_


	7. IMPORTANT

I'm sorry but my old computer is dead and has taken some of the story down with it. I've recovered as much as a I possibly can, but I need to do some rewriting. I just didn't want everybody to think I was being lazy. I'll try to rewrite as fast as possible. I'm sorry for any inconvience. I'll post and re write as quickly as I possibly can.


End file.
